


Bloom

by charlesworthy



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Budding Love, F/M, idk this turned out being more about my carver headcanons than the fluff i wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:10:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4774829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesworthy/pseuds/charlesworthy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garret left Carver behind, but it isn't as bad as Carver first thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloom

Carver groaned, for what might have been the eighth time. Staring at the ceiling was much more safer than the Deep Roads, he assumed, but also much more boring. At some point he had stopped his grumbling, but only because his brother's mabari had entered the room and laid down on the floor next to him. The dog was bloody smart, and Carver wasn't about to risk it biting his hand because he was taunting its master.

It was some small comfort that Garrett had left the dog behind too. It almost made Carver believe that 'it's too dangerous' rot he tried to pass on him. At the very least, it helped stifle the growing feel that the dog had surpassed Carver on a list of important people. Being left behind in favor for an elf and a crazy mage didn't.

The hound stirred when there was a knock on the front door to Gamlen's shack, ready to pounce in case it was an intruder, Carver supposed. He put his thoughts on hold in order to listen to who it would be. Not like it would be for him in any case.

Gamlen opened the door, grumbling about no solicitors as always, before stopping mid-sentence.

“Is... Carver here? This is where he lives, isn't it? I don't have the wrong house, do I?” Carver recognized the voice and the twang of her gentle accent. What was Merrill doing looking for him?

He stood, before Gamlen even called for him and stepped out into the main room, mabari at his heels.

“Merrill?” he asked, as if it weren't already completely obvious who it was at the door.

“Carver! Oh good, I got the right place.” She smiled, and folded her hands in front of her. Gamlen stepped away from the door, grumbling something about elves and women. Carver replaced him graciously. “I was so worried I'd get lost,” Merrill continued. “I always do, even though the Alienage is right over there. Anyway, I didn't come here to ramble, I wanted to see if you were doing okay.”

Carver smiled and said “How about we go outside?” before he could think about the words falling from his mouth. There was no way he wanted any one else to suffer another minute in earshot of Gamlen.

Merrill smiled and stepped away from the door. “Alright. Shall we go for a walk? I think we could both use a little more sunshine.”

“I think I'd like that,” Carver replied.

The night Garrett left for the Deep Roads without his brother, Carver had stormed straight into The Hanged Man and ordered something he hoped would knock him out. While he hadn't gotten drunk enough to warrant some one dragging him out by his ankles, a few drinks and chats with Isabella had been enough to put Carver in a less-bitter mood, if anything. It had been only three days since then, and Carver could still swear he was nursing some sort of hangover from that night. He had the sour mood usually typical of a hangover, at least.

That cloud over him seemed to have suddenly lifted upon Merrill's arrival, or at the very least he forced a smile for her. She lead him away from the slums, smiling over her shoulder.

“Where should we go?” she asked. “We can go anywhere. You probably don't get as lost as I do.”

Carver chuckled. “Are you still getting lost?”

“Yes.” She seemed ashamed. “I tried using that twine Varric lent me and I still end up somewhere I didn't want to go. I don't mind, most days, but I would have been upset if I got lost on the way to your house today.”

He flushed, raising an arm to scratch the back of his head. So she wanted to see him?

“You would think that following Hawke around would give me a better sense of it, but maybe it's the walls?” She glanced up at him, and he smiled. Isabela was right—elves had the prettiest eyes, though Carver was also positive that even among her kind, Merrill's would outshine all others.

“If you get lost,” Carver started. “Maybe I could help you?”

“Well, if I'm lost I wouldn't be able to find you to help!”

Right. Carver gave himself a mental slap. “Well, if you need to go anywhere. I know the city pretty well.”

He sighed, silently to himself. For all the times he'd been to the Blooming Rose, or all the times he sorted out his head and decided exactly what to say to her, he would always tie his tongue in knots around her. It was pathetic.

“Oh, thank you, Carver,” Merrill answered. “Where are we going now?”

Carver stopped walking. From Gamlen's shack, they had just started aimlessly into Lowtown. They agreed to go for a walk, but Carver hadn't gotten past that. He felt like he should take her some place nice, but he didn't know where that was. Even the architecture of Hightown that Mother marveled at wouldn't impress Merrill, and it might be dangerous to leave the city without a sword.

He wiped his hands on the side of his pants. They had gotten sweaty, somehow. They always did around Merrill. He always fumbled with everything around her. Maker, why couldn't he just say anything around her without kicking himself for it?

“I... don't know,” he answered, and regretted it.

“Let's go to Hightown,” Merrill said. “The flowers there are blooming. They're cute enough that you might forget about Garrett.”

“I'd really like that.” His voice was nearly a growl. Garrett was the last thing he wanted to think about, especially with Merrill next to him. The bastard had to go and leave him behind, after they'd both been so set on joining Bartrand's bloody expedition. He had half a mind to do something to spite him, but he hadn't quite come up with what yet. There was time though; they said they'd be gone for weeks, if not months. More than enough time to at least enjoy a day with Merrill.

“You know, I was hoping he might take me with him into the Deep Roads,” Merrill started again, her light Dalish accent music to Carver's ears.

“Oh yeah?” Carver did his best to seem genuinely interested, which necessitated clipping his words to omit the bitter 'me, too' he wanted to add.

“Yes. I thought it would be neat to see something new, and it would've helped being away from my clan. Here I'm so close. I'm not far away enough yet.”

“I think I know what you mean,” he said. But he only did when Merrill said it. It struck him like an epiphany. Garrett leaving him behind meant it was time for Carver Hawke to step up in Kirkwall. His older brother's shadow wasn't so big it could reach here from the Deep Roads. So the obvious next step was to stand somewhere in Kirkwall that Garrett's shadow couldn't reach, even once he was home.

He wasn't looking at Merrill in the moment that she gave him a curious glance, but they kept walking regardless to Hightown. Carver was a little preoccupied with how long Merrill could possibly look at flowers, and how long that meant he'd have to pretend to look at flowers when he was really looking at her.

Was that something he could tell her? To woo her?

Maker's breath was he bad at this.

As they walked up the steps carrying them to the Marketplace in Hightown, Carver could hear the vendors shouting about their wares. Maybe he could use a new sword, too. His sword had been a pass-down from their father. He was the only one in the house that really needed a sword, and its age was obvious, and he didn't even have it with him here, so what would happen if the templars came to take Merrill--

“Ooh, Carver, look!”

The elf had run off to look at one of the flower boxes that littered Hightown. This one was filled with white blooms of all sizes, tilting their heads towards the sun. Carver moved to her side, and lifted a hand before he realized she might not want him to touch her.

“Do you think some one would get mad if I picked a few? They'd make the alienage so much more comfortable.”  
“Knowing Hightown? Some one might yell at us for just standing here.”

Merrill gasped. “Do you think so? I'd hate to get yelled at, I'm only looking at the--”

Carver smiled, though it was lopsided. “It was a joke,” he replied.

“Oh.” Merrill almost seemed disappointed. “I keep missing them. It wasn't dirty, was it?”

“No,” he answered, chuckling. “It wasn't dirty. I'll tell you if it is, next time.”

“Thank you.” She smiled up at him, and his face turned hot almost instantly. Worried she'd see his blush, Carver turned his face, pretending to focus deeply on the flowers. But she laughed, and that made it work.

“C'mon, Carver,” she said, “there's more flowers elsewhere.”

“Right, right. Lead the way.”

When was the last time she said his name? That he heard, at least? Did she ever say his name when he wasn't around? He shook his head. At this rate, he'd just dig himself a deeper hole.

He didn't linger on the issue for too long. Merrill had bounded off towards another box, near the area of Hightown that held the Merchant's Guild. Even before they went into it, resent boiled in Carver at the memory of his brother leaving him at _home_ with _mother_ in front of twenty-odd people. People which, once they came home from the expedition, could likely give Carver a job as a mercenary, if Garrett hadn't left him behind.

“Look at these? Aren't they just adorable?”

Luckily, Merrill was there to pull him out of his bitterness.

She pulled him around Hightown, from vine-covered trellises to flower boxes bursting with white and green. Obviously, she enjoyed the flowers more than him, but seeing her smile and gently talk to the blooming buds was a delight for him. Before he knew it, the sun was setting, casting an orange glow on the white tiles of Hightown's architecture. He had spent a day with Merrill's smile, instead of his own grievances, and he was more than happy for it.

“Ooh, it's getting late,” she observed, looking up to the darkening sky. “We had better get back to Lowtown, shouldn't we?”

“Yeah, probably,” Carver agreed. “Hey, Mother has been... Mother's been cooking too much. Since Garrett's gone, she makes food for him and he's not here to eat it. Would you want to, maybe--”

“We know you're hiding here, Blood Mage!”

Carver was cut off by an authoritative voice, ringing from under a helmet. He froze, suddenly cold. Were they really looking for Merrill? Small, cute, precious Merrill? Even if she was a blood mage, that didn't mean-- That didn't mean all blood mages were bad. Though he'd probably never forgive Garrett for it, Carver could overlook Merrill's own use of magic for... whatever one would use blood magic for.

Even if the templars weren't looking for Merrill, Carver wouldn't let them find her.

“Oh no,” Merrill whispered. “Okay, just stay calm. They won't find me if I'm not doing anything.”

But Carver didn't want to take chances. “C'mon,” he said, grabbing her hand before he knew what he was doing. He pulled her, and she followed him, into a back alley that Carver knew from the days he and Garrett had been working with Athenril. It was a tight, small path, that weaved between buildings due to poor plans and nobles' arguments. He pulled her about halfway through, past a tight corner so that they couldn't be seen from either of the entrances or exits to the corridor.

At this time, it shouldn't have been used by smugglers. It wasn't a favorable position either, because it was only enough to fit one person, at best, and couldn't fit enough product to be worth using often. It was a get-a-way route above anything, but Carver stopped halfway through.

“Why are we stopping?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“They might be sweeping the city. So they'll go everywhere, and end up right where this alley lets out.”

Carver just wanted to sit and listen.

The only issue in that, was that in protecting Merrill and grabbing her hand out of panicking guidance, she hadn't yet let go of his. He hadn't either, and even as his fingers uncurled to suggest he might, her small hand held his tight.

He became hyper-aware of the touch of their hands, but at least the darkness in the alleyway was enough to conceal the shade of red his face took on.

“How long should we wait?” the elf asked, voice low.  
“Let's just... listen.”

So they did. And they held hands, and it was hard to listen when Carver's face was heating up and his heart was pounding and he worried if his hand was getting too sweaty to be worthy of touching Merrill's. Merrill listened, though.

A gruff voice from the distance was heard: “There you are! Think breaking out of the circle makes you less of a maleficar, huh?”

“N-no, ser! I just wanted to see my family.”

“S'what they all say. All we know, you might be from Starkhaven. Ain't got no family here.”

“P-Please, ser. I'll go back to the circle. Just don't make me Tranquil!”

“We'll see what Ser Alrik has to say about this one. Let's get back to the Gallows.”

Footsteps, and then:

“I think it's safe now...” Carver said. “This way.”

Hands still held, Merrill followed him out of the tight passage and back into Hightown proper. They parted, and it was then that Carver realized they had been so close to each other.

He looked over to Merrill, trying to read her face for a sign of how she felt. He wondered if he'd even be able to see.

“Do you think... They would have taken me?” she asked, still quiet despite their relative safety.

Carver bit his lip gently. It wasn't something he wanted to think about. “I don't know,” he admitted. “Better safe than sorry, though.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I suppose I should thank you.”

He beamed. “Don't worry about it.”

_My pleasure_ , he added.  _Any time._

“Well,” Merrill started again, smiling. “That's quite enough excitement for today. I thought things might settle down with Hawke gone but I guess not!”

She crossed in front of him, walking towards the steps leading to Lowtown.

“Guess I'll see you around later... Merrill.”

“We should do this again, Carver,” she said. She turned, smiling up at him. “I had fun, before the templars came around. I hope I didn't bore you too much.”

“Of course not,” he breathed. Feeling it might have been a little too quiet, he cleared his throat and repeated it again. “Of course not. You didn't. Promise.”

Her chime-like laugh left her mouth and left Carver a melting mess. She took two steps forward, painted toes nearly brushing Carver's boots, and raised herself on her tiptoes. Her hands gently found his chest, barely leaving any sensation as they touched him.

Her lips brushed his jawline – one of the only parts of his face she could reach without his assistance – and she quickly fell back to her heels, suddenly turning rose. “I hope that was okay,” she said, her hands fiddling with themselves. “I'll just... I'll just go, now.”

Carver grinned, wide. “I'd love to do this again,” he called after her, even though it were only a half-truth. He could do without the flowers, but he'd love to be kissed again. Maybe do some himself.

She turned her head and glanced over her shoulder even as she was leaving. A tiny smile graced her lips, and that was enough to convince Carver of two things:

Firstly, despite being a mage, despite being an elf, despite being a blood mage or even an _elven blood mage_ , Merrill was worth protecting. She was worth fighting for. She was gentle and pure, even if her blood sang with demons like Anders said. Carver could break Anders' big nose next time, even, if Merrill asked.

Secondly, he was convinced that he'd never have her no matter how small a part of her he could potentially _get_ , if Garrett's large wingspan was still covering his shoulder.

As he walked back to Gamlen's hovel in Lowtown, he struggled with some way to accomplish both. He needed to leave Garrett's influence, and yet still be close enough for Merrill's sake. So what couldn't Garrett touch...?

He looked up for inspiration, and found the ivory tower cutting against the darkening sky. The Gallows. Templars.

Garrett couldn't go near them without risking, and even as nonchalant as he had acted once they had arrived in Kirkwall, he had gone through all the motions to appear _normal_ and hidden. And what better way to keep the bloody templars from taking away blood mage elves or reckless brothers than from the inside?

It would work. It had to work. He assured himself of this as he entered the door to Gamlen's shack, was so confident that Gamlen's taunting and Mother's concerns were secondary to his plans to visit the Gallows.

The best part of all:

Wouldn't it just make his brother furious?

 


End file.
